


A Man Too Brave To Follow History

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Cheerful polyamory, Cuddles, Drug Use, Happy, Makeouts, Multi, SPOILERS for TROS, Stylish Neckwear for All, Vague ones anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21880864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Victory celebrations go on for well over a week. The crowds just keep getting bigger.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn/Rey
Comments: 22
Kudos: 226





	A Man Too Brave To Follow History

**Author's Note:**

> title from Morcheeba, [Blindfold](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JiGDM4j9Wj0)

Poe is hungover. Gloriously hungover.

It's the hangover to beat all other hangovers. This hangover takes other hangovers out behind the hangar and whips their asses until they're whimpering and crying. This hangover is on its own heroic journey, full thrusters blazing.

This is the hangover he's been planning to have for nearly a decade.

Poe floats on his back in the stream they've dammed up for bathing. It's midday, far too hot for most people to venture out of the hangars and command buildings, but perfect for him. The water glints and blinds; the leaves above whisper and breathe. He's caught on the skin of the world, trembling, floating on a reflection of the sky, atop a bottomless volume.

He's good. Headache's pretty bad, but tolerable.

*

They have been celebrating for nearly a week. Days are spent administering clean-up operations and recovery efforts, but when the shadows go long and deep and the blue gas giant swivels out of sight, then they're partying again. Everyone cooks, everyone drinks, and dances, and sets off fireworks and glitter-bombs, and drums whatever surface is handiest.

Rey returns from her errand in the midst of the night's festivities. Threading her way around the dancers, she is more sure-footed than any. She has a wad of soft bread in one hand and she's chewing it, smiling, as she approaches.

"Rey!" Finn shouts, dislodging Poe from his _very_ comfortable sprawl.

"Watch it," he tries to mutter, but Rey's reached them already.

Poe reaches up to shake her hand but she misunderstands and pulls him up. They shuffle and sway in a short dance before Poe drops her hand and scrubs at his hair.

"Welcome back."

Her smile has a thousand different angles of _shy_. She drops down to sit on Finn's far side so he can hug her. From inside the embrace, she manages to say, "Good to be back."

"You need a drink!" Releasing her, Finn scrambles to his feet and lopes off into the crowd.

Rey frowns slightly, then catches Poe's eye. "He's in a good mood."

Finn's joy and relief are beautiful things, at once delicate and enormous. They make Poe think of shamans drumming on the moon, joining astronomically-large objects and moving among them as equals. 

Poe has one knee drawn up, arm looped around it and cheek resting on top. He's sleepy and happy and Rey looks beautiful in the moonlight. Strong and serene, with wisps of hair escaping and a flush high on her cheeks.

"He'd do anything for you."

She makes a soft, noncommittal sound and lifts a shoulder in acknowledgment.

"Including ferment the bonach fruit for your punch."

"Hopefully it won't come to that," she says.

"Never know," he points out. "Guy's stubborn."

Rey's smile sharpens, her dimples flickering into view, before she starts digging in the satchel slung over her chest. "I got you something."

"Me?" Poe slides down the log, getting as close as he can. "Is it good? Do I have to share it? Can I open it right now or are you going to make me wait?"

She blinks, confused under his barrage of questions, and places a soft triangular bundle on his knee. "Here."

"Is it a Khytanian rice snack?" Poe asks, and now he's hungry, craving exactly that and only that. Hot from the manual press, stuffed with salty fish or sour vegetables, so steaming that the crebe-leaf wrappers burned his fingertips. Now his mouth is watering. He swallows quickly. "Used to live on those, all one winter, best thing you ever —"

Rey shakes her head. "Saw this and thought of you, that's all."

He touches the fabric — silky against his palm — then lifts the bundle and shakes it. There's nothing inside. The gift is the fabric. It looks green, maybe blue, but the firelight is unreliable. The surface is raised in places, and he leans in, squinting, to make out the pattern.

"Leaves," Rey says, then: "Here, let me —"

He bows his head and she fastens the length of fabric around his neck, knots its tails loosely and tosses one of them over his shoulder.

"How do I look?" Poe asks. He's still craving something. "Shit. I mean, thank you. Thank you."

"Welcome," she says softly, cocking her head, holding him by the shoulders at arm's length and looking him over. "You look good."

"Don't encourage him," Finn says as he returns. He hands Rey a double-large flagon of punch and crosses his legs to sink down onto the forest floor in front of him. He takes a long sip of his own punch, then adds, "He doesn't need any help with the vanity."

Poe plays with one tail of the scarf. "You _wish_ you had a great piece of neckwear like this, though."

"He does," Rey says, handing over an identical bundle to Finn. "His has waves on it."

"How come he gets water?" Poe asks. "I like water! I go swimming every day!"

Finn holds out his scarf. "You want to trade?"

"No," Poe says and crosses his arms. "I got leaves, I like them."

Shrugging, Finn unfolds the scarf and tosses it around his neck. He looks wonderful, effortlessly, like he was born a Calrissian in the very finest capes. "How's that?"

"Nice," Rey says. "Very nice."

"Gorgeous," Poe says a breath or so later.

Finn looks back and forth between them, his grin as broad as his shoulders, teeth white and eyes bright in the dark. "Thanks, guys. I think."

" _I_ was being sincere," Poe says. "Pretty sure Rey was, too."

"I'm always sincere," she says.

Poe points at her and nods. "See? She is. So, you know. Suck it."

Finn goes up on his knees and moves closer, until he's tucked between them, one hand on Rey's elbow, the other going around Poe's waist. He's taken to this, getting close and holding on, like a flower finds the sun, like water seeks its level, like rain settles and spreads and glimmers.

It's still, maybe always will be, weird when they're actually in bed. Then there are lots of limbs and things get knocked around and they laugh a lot and speak in broken phrases. Rey likes to be held, but prefers to touch herself; Finn wants to give her everything, even as he's shaking apart under Poe's mouth; and Poe.

Poe just wants this to keep going. This giant radiant thing that might very well be his heart, a fire lantern rising in the air and filling the horizon, getting bigger and brighter.

*

"Hey, Poe?" Through the tent material, Finn's form blocks the light; he looks like he's looming. It's rest day and Poe's napping away the afternoon. His hair's still damp from his swim; he has a husk of drybread on his chest and crumbs everywhere. "You in there? Busy?"

"Come in, man! We've been over this." Poe hastily sweeps the crumbs off his coverlet and plumps up the mat. "My tent is your tent, my ass is yours for the taking, your dick is my delight..."

"Poe." Finn doesn't sound amused. You'd think he would — at the _very_ least — be touched by Poe's open and heartfelt honesty. "Could you maybe come out?"

Poe fights with the tricky flap but manages to poke his head out. "What for? Come on —" He stops, but his mouth hangs open, when he sees the man behind Finn. No wonder they cast such a shadow. "Pop. Pops. Hey. What brings you by?"

Shaking his head, elbowing Finn like _see what I have to put up with?_ , Kes Dameron says, "Kiddo. Long time."

"I'll let you guys..." Finn doesn't get to say the rest, let alone bow out gracefully; both Kes and Poe say, too loudly, "no!" and Kes all but holds him bodily.

"I'll be right out!" Poe says, already fumbling for trousers and his boots.

He hasn't seen his father in years. He's sent a couple encrypted holos over that time, of course, usually around his mom's birthday and Yavin Victory Day, but living hand-to-mouth with a struggling insurgency didn't exactly lend itself to keeping in better touch. And before that — well. Kes made it pretty clear that Poe needed to make _a lot_ of changes before he could come home again.

Kes's beard is all white now, but his hair's still cropped short enough that there's some dark. He hugs Poe, lifts him off his feet, and doesn't let him down until Poe beats useless fists on the old man's shoulders.

"What are you doing here?" Poe asks, about fifty times, while they go in search of food.

Kes keeps shaking his head, then gazing around the base. He doesn't answer until they're back at Poe and Finn's tent. Finn's squatting at the cooker, reheating last night's stew, and Kes is trying to fold himself up to fit on the bed.

"What kind of son throws a ground invasion and doesn't invite an experienced infantryman?" Kes asks, bobbing his head in thanks when Finn passes over the bowl of stew. "That's what I want to know. Wedge Antilles, Poe? He and Calrissian get the call, but what am I? Bantha-spleen, apparently."

"Ground forces were Finn's operation," Poe says and for some reason he is enormously relieved to be able to pass the responsibility. "You got a complaint, he's your guy."

Finn's eyes are wide. He almost looks stricken. "Sir —"

"Five years with the rebels," Kes tells him, in between huge bites of stew. "Pathfinders! On the ground at Endor with _Solo_."

"His sole claim to fame," Poe mutters.

Kes threatens him with the back of his hand and Poe snorts. Finn keeps saying, "Sir, I'm sorry —"

"He's shitting you," Poe says, tugging on Finn's arm to pull him up against his body. "Aren't you, Kes?"

Kes swipes his thumb around the suddenly empty bowl, then sucks it clean. Such a couth and elegant individual.

Poe really missed the old fart. All the years of _not thinking_ about him were filled, it's obvious now, with a lot of thoughts, because he's feeling them all now, simultaneously, and he's too hungover not to want to laugh, cry and puke. 

"It did sting," Kes says, not looking at them, but then he shakes himself, sets down the bowl, and slaps his hands on his knees. "Now that I know Half-Bit here only did air support, I feel a little better."

"He was magnificent," Finn tells him. Nothing embarrasses him. Poe watches him, day in and day out, sees him be as honest and open as humanly possible, and it's always a marvel. "You have a lot to be proud of."

Poe tightens his arm around Finn's waist and fights the urge to say something especially obnoxious. _Little late for that_ , perhaps, or _wouldn't want him to have a stroke trying_.

"Yeah," Kes says before the silence completely overtakes them. He's looking them over, taking his time taking them in. "Seems like I do."

* 

"And this spice of yours? What was it like? How was it?"

"Huh?"

The firelight plays quick and bright over Finn's face. "Remember how you used to run spice?"

Poe punches him in the chest with one hand while reaching with the other, bowl in hand, to grab another scoop of stew from the pot. "Funny joke."

"I don't know," Finn says. "Maybe it affects memory."

Poe chews and swallows. "So what you want to know is what spice is like?"

"That's right."

"And I'm the expert."

Finn pretends to look around the crowd. "You...yeah, man. You are the expert at hand."

"Never sample the product, Finn! That's rule number one! They practically beat it into you."

Finn's smiling. It's a slow, radiant progression across his face and his eyes are narrowing and tongue's peeking out and he's just _taking_ Poe in. Poe's warm and getting warmer and that has nothing whatsoever to do with the fire.

"How many times?" Finn asks.

"How many times what?"

"Did they have to remind you of rule number one?"

"Oh." Poe coughs a couple times and shifts in his seat, but he's still warming and Finn's still smiling at him and this guy. This fucking guy knows him far too well for anything like comfort. "Several times. Lost count."

"Memory problems?"

"Fuck you," Poe says without any anger at all, then, "yeah, a little." He looks back up and bumps his shoulder into Finn's. "That could be all the concussions, though. Can't blame the spice entirely."

"Wouldn't want to besmirch its name, no."

"Exactly." He remains where he is, tipped against Finn, and only moves to wiggle a little back and drape his arm over Finn's thigh. Together, they watch the night's festivities for a while; Finn's drinking his juice and talking with passersby but Poe's content to stay quiet and relatively still.

"Never the mined stuff," he tells Finn at one point when the singing dies down. The merrymaking moves back and forth like water, finding highs and lows, speeding up, then slowing to near-stillness. "Just to be clear."

Finn shifts until his arm comes around Poe's shoulder. Easy as anything, just a close embrace that's also, the way Finn does it, as graceful and casual as breathing or dancing.

"It's all mind stuff, though," Finn says. "It's a neurotropic."

Poe's too comfortable and warm to rustle up the energy for sarcasm, let alone a good argument. "Mines. Mining. Dug out of the ground? Mined. We didn't sell that. All botanicals, a couple synths."

"Ah," Finn says. The firelight gilds his profile; when Poe blinks, he can see its reverse, all Finn, all the time. "Ethically-sourced intoxicants, then?"

"Yeah," Poe mutters. It was an important point, back in the day. It still is, yet Finn's judgment of him still irritates. There's this stupid _thing_ between them, Poe doesn't actually know what it is, but it feels like his fault. It probably _is_ his fault; that fact hardly makes it any easier to deal with. "I promise."

That gets Finn to really look at him and frown. "Why're you promising?"

"Feels important," Poe says. "I dunno. It —" 

When he stops talking, Finn doesn't take up the slack. He's got a hold on Poe's hand, however, and his thumb is moving atop Poe's own.

The drumming speeds up and now someone's on the zotacham, its high brass voice rocketing up to the forest canopy. Some birds reply to it.

Poe realizes that Finn's talking only when he sees the light shifting over Finn's mouth. "You think you know a person, you know? And then..."

Poe's mouth is sour. "They go and disappoint you, yeah, I know, I know."

"Not what I was going to say." Finn peers at him, twisting and leaning to close the space between them. He _hates_ being cut off. Poe's usually pretty good at remembering that.

"What were you going to say?" Poe manages to ask.

"It's like, there's always more. Big as someone is, important as they are, you love them and that means you're never going to stop being surprised."

The zotacham breaks and resounds at a much lower frequency. Poe feels the vibrations twang over his nerves. Finn's mouth is brushing against his.

"Your lady's looking for you two," Kes announces as he passes. He's got Maz on one shoulder and his arm around Vober Dand's perennially-slumped back. 

He's not the only one who's come to base in the last several days. Vets and curious kids, wanna-be Jedi and a surprising number of poets and journalists are thronging here. Pretty soon, they're going to be a settlement. Pretty soon, they're going to need to discuss boring essentials like waste disposal and work shifts. Pretty soon, they're just going to be living.

"She's a damn Jedi," Poe calls after his father. "If she can't find two drunk sentients making out in the dark, we're all doomed."

*

The next night it storms. Poe talks to Maz, who consults with Zorri and R2, and comes back with a finger of sticky purple spice. Lying on his back on his sleeping platform, bookended by Finn and Rey, he shows them how smear a little on sharp end of a bromeliad vine, heat it, and suck the smoke through the sap of the vine.

"Do not light it on fire," he says about fifty times. 

"What happens if we light it on fire?" Rey asks, sharing a look with Finn.

"Can I light it on fire?" Finn asks. "Just a little, just once?"

"Listen, beauties, honeys of my heart and darlings of my nether regions, do _not_ light it on fire."

"But a little fire's okay?"

He kicks Finn for that and hands the vine to Rey. "You go first because you're not being obnoxious."

She tips up her sharp chin. Fantastic, she took it as a challenge. "I think I'm going to see what fire does."

"I am too hungover for this," Poe says. "You all are gorgeous and I love you so much and I want to share this delectable spice with you, but I swear on the Light and the Spark that I _will_ —"

"Burn the spice?" Finn asks, his face a perfect mask of innocence. "Maybe on fire?"

Poe covers his face with his hands and groans so long and so loudly that he goes hoarse. Then he's up on his elbow, coughing and spluttering, with Rey pounding his back and handing the sizzling vine to Finn. Poe's eyes water and he coughs some more; when he can breathe again, they're leaning over him, kissing, with the vine in Rey's far hand and Finn's hand fumbling blindly to find Poe's.

"Fuck," Poe says and lays back, eyes streaming, chest hollowing just at the second-hand spice steam. "I'm so gone."

They curl against him and the sound of kissing downshifts into soft chuckles and finally sighs. Their arms cross his torso and hold him fast.

He has no complaints whatsoever.

Beyond the hangover, that is.

"Somebody pinched out the spice, right?" he remembers to ask.

The rain hits the tent like they're inside a heart, shaken in its beat.


End file.
